


Parts

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 09:49:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25967656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Hank questions Connor’s yams.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 6
Kudos: 70





	Parts

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

As soon as Connor reboots, he registers a change in his position—he powered down with his body curved around the contours of Hank’s bed. He was on his side, one hand beneath the pillow and the other over Hank’s side—but Hank often rolls over in his sleep and tends to dislodge Connor’s limbs, subconsciously snuggling up against Connor’s chest. He doesn’t usually push Connor around, but now Connor’s on his back with his legs at ninety-two and ninety-four degree angles respectively. He feels a few of Hank’s wiry hairs against his inner thighs and the grooves behind his knees. His legs are hooked over Hank’s shoulders, spread open around Hank’s thick body. 

Before Connor’s even finished coming online, he engages the protocols for _sex_ : preemptively ready for _Hank_. His channel clenches, and then flexes open, slowly stretching as his inner walls secrete a clear fluid used for lubrication. He hears Hank’s breath hitch and his thirium pump skips two beats. Hank’s interest still _does things_ to his systems. Pleasing Hank causes anomalies that solving cases never could. Connor was built to please the entire Detroit Police Department, not just one man, but one man is all Connor truly cares about anymore. 

The scrolling data clears and flashes out of his vision, leaving the dim light of Hank’s bedroom, and Hank sitting up above him, looking down in awe. One of Hank’s hands is idly stroking Connor’s thigh, the other wrapped tight around Connor’s sac, but it’s stopped moving and no longer registers as ‘sexual.’ Hank’s eyes are fixed on Connor’s synthetic asshole. Connor deliberately flexes wider for his partner’s entertainment. He even flushes: turning pink around his cheeks and asshole despite having blue blood. The fluid leaks out, slick around his puckered brim.

Then Hank runs his tongue across his lips and mutters, “Not doing that, baby. I’m just looking.”

Connor lifts both brows. He ends the process, automatically tightening back up again, no longer leaking lube but letting what came out drip down around his cheeks. It’s deliberately designed not to stain sheets. A shuddering breath, and Hank shakes his head, like trying to clear his mind of the new images Connor just inspired. Instead, he focuses back on Connor’s balls—he gives Connor a slight tug that brings in a rush of _sensation_ and makes his eyelashes flutter. Hank’s thumb presses against the cleft between them, fingers lightly teasing the underside. Rolling Connor’s sac around his palm, Hank hikes Connor a fraction higher and leans in to stare. 

Connor trusts Hank. He shuts down _everything_ when he’s in Hank’s home, allowing full power-saving mode without wasting energy on non-essential systems. So his sensors weren’t running—he has no idea how long Hank’s been playing with his balls. Hank doesn’t seem to be done yet. He gives a tug so firm that Connor arches off the bed, flaccid cock flopping down against Hank’s wrist. It isn’t that Connor isn’t _interested_ , but that he has to actively engage the right protocols when he wants to be hard. Hank already said no. There’s no reason to fill out. Illogically, Connor wants to harden his dick anyway. He knows he’s gone so far past the point of no return, but it still irks him every time he takes another defiant step. He doesn’t _want_ to disobey his human. So he keeps his cock soft, even though he can see that Hank’s is fully hard and straining against his boxers. Hank gently squeezes Connor’s sac, and Connor bites his bottom lip—every new reaction is a thrill. And no one’s ever thrilled him half so much as _Hank_ does. 

Hank gruffly mutters, maybe more to himself than Connor, “Why do you even _have_ these?”

It’s true that Connor has no need for testicles. He has no sperm. He can’t speak to Kamski’s motives, but he reasons, “Androids are generally designed to serve in any capacity their owner wants. Working genitals were a natural progression.”

“Yeah, I get your dick,” Hank grunts, fingertips affectionately ghosting by it. “But nobody needs you to stick _these_ in anything...”

Connor watches Hank’s dilated eyes trace over all the little details of his crotch, catching on the short dark hair that grows at his command, the pink hue around the base and the slope of his shaft, then back down to the landscape underneath. Connor informs him, “I believe that particular area was determined by averages, but it’s easily changed. I can have them removed, if you like, and you can purchase upgrades—”

Hank’s head snaps up, and Connor cuts off mid-word. Hank looks _horrified_ at the idea of removing part of Connor, but Connor would strip everything away for Hank even if it left him non-functional. Connor switches to another point of interest. “If you like, I can remove the skin, and you can see their technical makeup—”

“No way!” At Connor’s startled expression, Hank rips his hand away from Connor’s leg to wag a finger. “Connor, don’t you _dare_ start removing skin or parts without warning me!”

Technically, he’s just been warned, but Connor understands. He can’t help quirking a little smile, because it’s so _easy_ to ruffle his detective when it comes to android specifications. Assuming that their conversation’s over, Connor pushes up on his elbows and says, “We should get dressed, then.”

Hank doesn’t move. He casts another furtive look at Connor’s balls. Connor idly wonders if he should alter them slightly—tighten the skin, add hair, maybe raise them—but then he decides he’s teased Hank enough and instead asks, “Or would you like to continue playing with me?”

Hank kneads Connor’s sac and shrugs, admitting, “Actually... lube up after all.”

Connor had the program on standby. He figured it would come to this, because it always does—once presented with Connor’s hole, Hank’s never been able to resist. 

As soon as Connor’s leaking again, Hank’s stripping down and lining up, right where Connor wants him.


End file.
